Snippets
by TrustTheCloak
Summary: A series of snippets that aren't big enough for their own story, but should maybe still be told. *New Chapter: Gilan and Blaze... need I say anything else?*
1. Chapter 1

**A set of drabble-ish things that I like the idea of, but can't be bothered to make into a full story.**

* * *

 **#1.**

A quiet, familiar giggle made David whirl around from where he was selecting a saddle pad. His five year old son had ducked under the stall guard - _again_ \- and was excitedly rubbing Monty's soft nose, looking especially small in contrast with the massive bay battlehorse.

"Gilan!" the Battlemaster cried out, hurriedly striding over and snatching his child up and out of the stall, away from the massive, dinner plate size hooves. David shifted Gilan in his arms until the boy was facing him, then said sternly, "We've been over this, Gil. You have to stay out of the stalls unless I'm in there with you."

Gilan blinked wide, innocent, confused eyes at his father. "But, Da! 's a horse!"

David gave a deep sigh. He truly believed that Gilan wasn't meaning to be disobedient. However, just because Gilan was fascinated with horses didn't mean that he would be exempt from getting stepped on by a misplaced hoof. "Yes, and he's much bigger than you. He could accidentally hurt you. Do you understand, son?"

Gilan nodded. "Yes, Da," he replied slowly, turning his head to gaze longingly back at Monty.

David chuckled and ruffled the boy's blonde mop, then took a few steps closer to the stall so that Gilan's small arms could reach Monty's inquiring muzzle.

* * *

 **#2.**

"He's fairly brilliant," Sir Gerron admitted. "You might consider enrolling him with MacNeil soon."

Sir David rubbed his chin. "He's that good?" Almost eleven, Gilan had been in basic training for around a year and a half. His son was undoubtedly skilled, but training with a master swordsman at such a young age was a rare occurrence.

However, Sir Gerron replied without hesitation. "He's that good. Has the potential to be one of the best." This was high praise; Gerron was not one to give compliments lightly.

David nodded. While his exterior remained calm, he was inwardly burning with pride. "Thank you, Gerron. You know I trust your judgement; I'll get in contact with MacNeil and see if he has room for another pupil."

Gerron gave a nod of assent as he turned to leave the office, before suddenly pausing. "David, he needs a better sword."

The Battlemaster tilted his head, urging the knight to elaborate.

"Gilan's such a spindly thing." Gerron said slowly, knowing that this was a rather delicate subject. "He manages, but the school swords are really too heavy and unbalanced for him. He's going to need something he can actually use more effectively."

"You're right," David replied slowly, contemplating. The other knights all too often loved to remind him how sparely built his son was, and while Gilan would never complain, David knew that the other cadets gave his son grief about his lankiness. "If he needs it, I'll get it done."

* * *

 **#3.**

Sir David peeked his head into the hayloft in Castle Caraway's stable. "Gilan? Are you up here?"

"Shh..." Came the soft reply from where Gilan sat at one of the hay drops, intently watching the aisle below him. Confused, David finished the ascent into the hayloft and moved to settle next to his son.

"What are you up to?" David asked worriedly, knowing of his child's penchant towards mischief.

Gilan smirked and gestured towards the door of the feed room that was visible from this particular hay drop. "I rigged a water bucket to drop when the door opens."

David frowned. He had been trying to discourage Gilan's pranks; apparently, it had been to no avail. "Gilan," he chided. "You're better than this."

"I know..." Gilan trailed off, then shrugged. "I wanted to do two buckets, but I ran out of time, you know?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," the father replied sternly.

It was around this moment that heavy footsteps could be heard moving up the aisle. The owner came into sight and could be recognized as Joss, one of the less pleasant, more rude stablehands. David hesitated as Joss moved toward the feed room, and Gilan turned pleadingly to his father.

"C'mon, Dad. It won't hurt him, and it's warm today; he'll dry quickly. You might as well enjoy the show."

David considered Gilan's earnest blue eyes. Joss had been rather impolite to him earlier, the Battlemaster admitted to himself.

The splash of water, the angry shout, and the sight of a dripping wet stablehand ended up being more satisfying than it probably should have been.

* * *

 **#4.**

Gilan, with grass stains and dirt staining his clothes and mud smeared across his cheek, refused to meet his father's eyes.

"I'm disappointed in you." David was saying, barely contained anger visible on his face. "What were you thinking?"

Gilan took a deep breath. "I... I didn't think-"

David cut him off. "That's obvious," he said crisply. Gilan didn't answer, though his bottom lip trembled slightly. David pressed on. "A cross country race with the visiting Baron's son? The idea of a race was stupid, but besides that, you knew the course was too muddy to jump safely. Why on earth would you even consider it?"

"Because I didn't think," Gilan answered softly, tears glistening in his eyes.

"You didn't," David agreed. "You're lucky that neither of you were seriously hurt. And Bentley - he could have slipped and easily broken a leg! I thought he meant more to you than that; I suppose I was wrong."

It was these words that sent the tears spilling onto Gilan's cheeks. "I'm sorry," he said thickly. "I was stupid."

David sighed. He hated seeing his son cry, but he had to stress the importance of the matter. "You and I are to apologize to the Baron and his son first thing in the morning; and they are to apologize to us for daring you in the first place."

Gilan nodded numbly, and David sighed again. "You can go, Gilan." His son immediately bolted out the office door. David wearily scrubbed his face with both hands. All parenting was done with immense love, but that didn't make it easy.

* * *

 **#5.**

The fierceness of David's voice belied the gentleness with which he examined the bruise that marred his son's left cheek. "Who did this? Who hit you?!"

"No one, it's nothing," Gilan muttered, brushing his father's hand away.

"Oh, so your face just happened to turn a rather striking shade of purple?" David answered sarcastically.

Gilan groaned. "No! It's just... I can't go running to my dad for everything just because he's the Battlemaster..." The boy trailed off before bitterly adding, "I don't want to be anymore of a freak than I already am."

David stilled at Gilan's words before quietly replying. "First, you are not a freak. Second, the fact that I am the Battlemaster means nothing in this situation. You think that other fathers would do nothing if their son came home with a bruise on their face? Of course not. They would react the same as I did."

Gilan tilted his head. "How do you know?"

David allowed himself a smile. "It's a parent instinct, I think."

Slowly nodding to himself, Gilan finally said, "It was Kendrick. He wasn't very happy that he got paired with me during drill practice." A beat passed before Gilan nervously added, "But, Dad? I still don't want him to know that I told you."

"That's fine. He won't know, I promise," David assured his son. Parent instinct, indeed.

* * *

 **Dad!David is my favorite.**

 **R &R**

 **-TrustTheCloak**


	2. Chapter 2

**Inspired by an OTP question list found on Pinterest. My dear cousin Winter Starcatcher and I bounced prompts and ideas with our wonderful Ranger's Apprentice couples. Enjoy!**

 **First up: Halt and Pauline.**

* * *

The inside of Halt's cloak meowed. Pauline arched a graceful eyebrow. "Who's that?" She inquired, gesturing towards her husband's chest.

Halt winced and reluctantly shifted his mottled cloak, revealing a tiny, tabby kitten. "The awful thing followed me home," he groused, holding the kitten away from his body as if it had personally wronged him.

Pauline smirked. "Interesting. How did it end up in your cloak?" The blonde woman glanced out the water speckled window of their apartment before continuing, "It wouldn't have to do with all this rain, would it?"

"Of course not!" Halt replied indignantly. "The stupid thing kept trying to trip me. I'd still be trying to get home if I hadn't picked it up to get it out of the way." He glared disdainfully at the tabby kitten, who gave another pitiful meow in response.

"Of course," Pauline said seriously, only her Courier's training keeping her from grinning. She tilted her head before continuing in a thoughtful tone, "I suppose that means we have to find a home for it. Alyss might be willing to take it, or possibly Jenny. She was complaining about a mouse..."

"No!" Halt said hurriedly. At Pauline's knowing look, he hastily continued, "Er, I don't want to force its annoying presence on anyone else. I suppose we have to keep it. Only because I don't want it burden anyone with how terrible it is."

Pauline shook her head and allowed herself a small smile. Her husband was such a softy. "Of course, dear. That's the only reason."

* * *

"What a cold morning!" Pauline said airily as she entered her and her husband's apartment. Halt was seated at his desk, reading over the Battleschool report that Will had filled in earlier that week.

"Indeed," the Ranger answered in a distracted tone as he flipped the paper over. With a mischievous smile, Pauline lightly walked over to where Halt was seated. Without any further talk, she abruptly placed her cold hands on the back of his neck. Halt responded with a violent flinch, his shoulders drawing up in an unconscious attempt to spare himself from the cold.

"I can barely feel my hands after only crossing the courtyard," the Courier replied in a conversational tone, turning her hands over to warm the other side.

Halt gritted his teeth. "Quite so." He hated cold touches with every fiber of his being, but he simply loved Pauline too much to make her stop.

Pauline sighed and removed her hands, then bent down to peck Halt's cheek. "Thank you, dear. I was simply stopping by to grab some papers." As she exited the apartment, the blonde woman gave a small smirk. Her husband was such a stoic man that she enjoyed seeing him slightly uncomfortable. It reminded her of the first time she had met him as a young, stuttering mess, and how she had fallen hopelessly in love with him.

* * *

"Honey Bear, have you seen my quill?"

Halt stifled a groan. "I believe in your bag, Pauline."

Pauline rifled through her bag for a second before retrieving the quill in question. "Ah. So it is. Thank you, Pookie."

Halt took a deep breath and closed his eyes. She was messing with him, he knew that. It amused her, made her smirk. He didn't have to react; this wasn't a big deal.

"Snookums, would you be a dear and refill my ink bottle?" Pauline asked as she signed her name at the bottom of her report. "I have three more to finish and I simply won't have enough."

Halt exhaled through his teeth as he took the ink bottle and began to fill it. As he turned away, he missed Pauline's smile. It was a game to her, to see what the most ridiculous thing she could call him was before he broke.

Pauline decided it was time to play her trump. "What shall we have for dinner, Poopsie Doodle?"

Halt slammed the bottle down so hard that ink splashed out. "No." Turning to his wife, he did something that he would never under any circumstances do to anyone else on this world; he pleaded. "Pauline, enough."

Pauline rolled her eyes. "I'm just playing, Halt. But if it really bothers you that much, then yes, I will stop."

Halt gave a sigh of relief, knowing he was safe; that is, until Pauline thought up more nicknames.

* * *

Pauline stared into the fire, trying to ease the gnawing discomfort in her chest. Halt was fine; he was smart, he was resourceful, he was brave, he was experienced. He had Will with him. She had nothing to worry about.

She knew when she married him that she would have to deal with her husband being in dangerous situations; he had to deal with the same. Couriers and Rangers were both dangerous occupations to be in, and they had to trust in the other's considerable skills that they would be safe in their line of work.

That didn't mean she had to like it. She knew that she would always worry about him when he was away, worry until he was safely home and she was able to wrap her arms around him and smell his pine and leather scent.

She must have dozed off in front of the fire, because the creaking of the apartment door woke her. She felt her heart swell as the lilting accent that she loved so much reached her ears.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Halt said softly as Pauline stood. He wasn't able to get any further before she threw herself into his arms.

"I missed you."

It was enough. She didn't have to say anything more. She knew he understood, and finally, the gnawing in her chest eased.

* * *

Given the choice, Halt preferred to go to bed early. It wasn't always possible when he was out in the field, due to traveling times and night watches. It often wasn't even possible when he had apprentices, between the pranks and having to stay up with them when they were sick as dogs.

So when he finally moved into his own apartment with Pauline, well, he was going to take advantage of it. His idiot apprentices teased him ("We know you can't help it. Old people need their beauty sleep."), but he knew better. Going to bed earlier was crucial to staying in good enough condition to fight at peak efficiency.

Pauline, on the other hand, would sometimes get so caught up in her work that she would forget that she did indeed need to sleep. She could go for hours, filling out paper after paper with only candles lighting her desk. It was these nights that Halt would pad his way over from the bed, and with a gentle touch to her arm, remind her that she couldn't go forever.

Halt would wait while she arranged her papers and blow out her candles, then walk her to bed. Her reports would still be there in the morning.

* * *

 **This is half of the prompts. Would you like to see the other half for Halt and Pauline? Move on to the next couple? Move on from these altogether?**

 **Reviews inspire me and help me to improve.**

 **-TrustTheCloak**


	3. Chapter 3

**Surprise! Enjoy some Gilan and Jenny (Ginny? Jelan? I actually don't know this ship name...), because this couple doesn't get enough love. While it's not my favorite ship in the world, I don't hate it. Here's to hoping that I don't butcher Jenny's character too badly...**

* * *

"Small fire! I said to set a small fire! This is not small!" Jenny shrieked, clutching her hair as flames shot up and around the oven.

Gilan frantically patted his previously folded cloak over the flames in an attempt to smother the fire, rambling as he did so. "It's fine, it's fine! It was just a bit of oil, it was more efficient that way!" Finally managing to put out the last of the flames, Gilan finally exhaled, making a face at his now slightly singed cloak.

Jenny put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "That way is going to get us killed. Not to mention, you ruined the croissants," she finished with exasperation, eyeing the now charred pastries with consternation. Her hand twitched slightly, as if she was aching to whack him with her ladle, if only she had been holding it.

Gilan saw the movement and understandably winced. "I'm sorry, Jen. I really was only trying to help. Let me help you make a new batch?" Gilan knew he was a horrid cook - always had been, and probably always would be. Halt had been able to pass on his excellent cooking skills to Will, but had flatly deemed Gilan a lost cause. There was a reason why the young Ranger lived solely on jerky and dried fruit when he was out in the field - and why he was so appreciative of good cooking when he was able to eat it. This did little to change the fact that guilt was still coursing through him, and Gilan felt duty bound to somehow remedy his mistake.

Jenny visibly cringed. Gilan only meant well, of that she was sure, but she'd seen Gilan attempt to cook in times previous. "I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don't trust your cooking. Stay out of my kitchen."

The Ranger sighed, but did as he was told. He wasn't stupid enough to argue with Jenny on her territory.

* * *

Gilan took an appreciative sniff as he removed the pot of freshly brewed coffee, then paused, a frown appearing on his face. "Say, Will, see if you can find my mugs."

Will's eyebrow raised - a habit that Halt had successfully passed on to both of his apprentices - and answered, "Since when do you not know where your mugs are?" A mischievous smile creeping across the younger man's face, he continued, "I know you're not the most tidy person, but still..."

Gilan scoffed and half-heartedly chucked a nearby apple at his friend, who easily caught it and took a bite, that cheeky grin still present on his face. "Dream on, brother," Gilan replied with a smirk. "You're just sore that Halt hasn't called you his cleanest apprentice yet."

Will made a face. "You still haven't answered the question."

"Jenny was bored and reorganized my kitchen, alright?"

Will laughed as he began looking in cupboards. "Sounds like Jen, for sure. Ah, here they are." Retrieving two mugs, he turned an inquiring eye back to Gilan. "Spoons?"

Gilan winced.

* * *

"Get out! Get out of my restaurant!" Jenny yelled, shaking her ladle furiously. Rafe trailed anxiously behind her, ready to step in if needed - not that he truly thought Jenny needed it. The door slammed and Jenny finally turned around, hot, angry tears spilling from her blue eyes. "How could he do that?!"

A shattered plate and glass littered the floor by one of her tables, courtesy of the man she had just chased out. After loudly proclaiming his distaste for her food, he had swiped the dishes and pushed off from his chair so hard that it had tipped over. Jenny was horrified.

The door creaked, and Jenny whirled around, tears still spilling, her ladle hand raising threateningly.

Only to see Gilan, his hands raised cautiously, a question on his face. A glance at the broken dishes, Jenny's tear stained face, and Rafe hovering close by told him the entire story. "Oh, Jen, it's alright," he said gently, his hands going from up to open.

Jenny ran into his arms. "He was an utter fop," she said after a moment, wiping her nose. "I wanted to break my ladle on him."

Gilan chuckled. "If he comes back, I'll hold him while you do it. But I get the feeling that you may have scared him away for good, my sweet."

"I am rather intimidating, aren't I?"

The intimidating by occupation Ranger nodded vigorously. "Absolutely."

* * *

Jenny yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She could practically feel the dark circles under her eyes - it had been a long, late night at the restaurant. Rafe had practically begged her to take the next day off - in retrospect, she had a feeling it was because he was scared to try to work under her when she was tired and cranky.

Slipping into a simple skirt and blouse, Jenny then quickly brushed her blonde hair into a glossy curtain before pulling it into a braid. Perhaps she would make a batch of breakfast pastries this morning; another yawn had her dully thinking that perhaps she would just make some coffee. With a sigh, she headed towards her kitchen.

"Good morning!"

Jenny yelped in surprise. Standing at her counter was none other than her Ranger, bright and cheerful and wearing that adorable grin of his - the grin that set her heart slightly aflutter, that made her feel lovely and pretty and adored. "G-Gilan, what are you even doing here?! I thought you were stuck in Whitby until the end of the week?" Not that she was complaining, of course.

Gilan laughed and sunnily replied, "I finished up early and wanted to surprised you." Picking up the bowl in front of him, he slipped it into Jenny's hands, his smile turning sheepish. "I, uh, made you breakfast. It's just fruit and cream, but it's one of the only things I can't burn."

Jenny looked from the fruit with clumsy drizzles of cream to Gilan's hesitant face and beamed. "It's perfect."

* * *

Almost there, so close... with a groan, Jenny pulled her arm back down, eyeing the just out of reach bowl with disdain. She normally didn't mind her height, but this was ridiculous.

"Do you need me to get it for you?" Came Gilan's mild voice from where he was drinking coffee at the table.

Jenny scoffed. "How dare you insult the slightly vertically challenged! I don't need your help to reach a bowl, Gil." Looking at the bowl, the girl once again lifted herself onto her toes and began straining for it. Gilan watched her for a few seconds before giving a quiet chuckle and taking another sip of his coffee.

"If you're sure..."

Jenny reached for a few more seconds before dropping again with a long, defeated sigh. "Help me."

Gilan smirked and walked to the cabinet, pulling the bowl out with ease. He didn't even have to reach, Jenny noted with annoyance. Swatting Gilan's arm at his rather smug look, Jenny accepted the utensil. "We can't all be moose, Gilan!"

* * *

 **Writing new characters is stressful...**

 **Also, I'm open to and would appreciate any ideas or requests for any snippets.**

 **I love reviews.**

 **-TrustTheCloak**


	4. Chapter 4

Gilan's thin wails cut through the air as he clung to his father, the surrounding troops shifting uncomfortably as they tried to give the man some privacy with his family. Lysette was softly trying to pull the boy off, but David himself seemed reluctant to let go as he hugged his boy, burying his face in the soft blonde hair.

"Dad, please! Please don't go!" Gilan managed to gasp out through his sobs. David met his son's eyes, soothingly running his thumb over the boy's cheek as he attempted to wipe away the stream of tears.

"I'll be back, Gilly," David tried to reassure his child, his tone thick with emotion. "I promise, I promise I'll be back."

Gilan whimpered again and gave his father one last desperate squeeze before his mother finally managed to gently disentangle him. Lysette then spoke, and despite her best efforts, she was unable to completely mask her sadness and fear at her husband's leaving. "I expect you home soon, my love. Your son wants his fishing trip; please don't disappoint him." _Please come home safe or I won't be able to bear it._

David nodded as he kissed her. "Of course. I can't deny a boy his fishing trip, can I?" _You know I will, please don't worry too much._

It was with a somewhat solemn air that the troops made their way down the castle path. Halt, riding next to David, noticed his friend's slumped posture and distant look, but elected not to comment. The knight would say his piece when he was ready.

"We recently lost a knight in a skirmish," David said finally, knowing Halt was waiting for an explanation. "He was a good man - and a good friend. Gilan plays with his two daughters..." he trailed off before finishing in a soft tone, "It's been hard on everyone."

"I see," Halt answered quietly, a wave of understanding washing over him. Gilan's meltdown suddenly made sense - he was just a child who was terribly afraid and faced with the possibility that his father could also leave and never come home.

With a sideways glance at his friend, the Ranger continued, "We'll get you home, David."

David, sensing the unspoken promise, allowed himself a smile.

* * *

David wearily scrubbed his face with both hands, idly noticing the rough stubble that was growing. It had been days since he had taken the time to shave.

Lying before the man was Gilan, gasping shallowly through chapped lips, his flushed, wane face a visible testament to the sickness that had taken hold of nearly half the children in the castle. David had hardly left the boy's side, sick with worry over his son. Lysette was in a nearby fief visiting friends, though a messenger had been sent to fetch her.

It had started out as a persistent, bothersome, but not overly concerning cough. The cough had grown into lethargy - then came the fever.

The fever that kept climbing.

David stroked Gilan's hand, willing those clear blue eyes to open, desperate to hear his son's cheerful voice. The healers had gravely expressed the need of a certain herb - not terribly rare, but one that wasn't native to Caraway or the immediate surrounding fiefs. Though they hadn't said it outright, the implications were clear; without this herb, the sick children throughout the castle wouldn't be much longer for this world.

The fact made David want to kick, to scream, to fight something. What cruel power had decided to give him his sweet, precious boy, only to take him this soon?

Just when David had nearly given into despair, Halt had arrived. It was for a routine meeting, as both men were influential advisers to the King. However, due to recent events, it had completely slipped the Battlemaster's mind.

Halt, upon learning about the situation, immediately volunteered to fetch the herb. Naturally, men had already been sent to retrieve it, but the Ranger reasoned that even meeting them midway would be beneficial. Abelard would run all day and half the night if Halt asked him to, so it was at that ground eating lope that the pair had left Caraway Castle.

So now they played the waiting game, the healers trying to make their charges comfortable, David watching every shallow rise and fall of his unconscious child's chest.

The knight was so intent on his task that he had startled when the ward's doors burst open to reveal an excited sentry. "He's back! The Ranger Halt is back!"

And several hours later, when Gilan had creaked open tired but lucid eyes, David unashamedly wept.

* * *

Gilan bit his lip in concentration as he slowly reached for the next hold. Far below him, he could hear the sentries shouting angrily - something that he was currently deciding to ignore. The boy was almost to the top of the massive tower - he didn't dare look down now in case he lost his nerve. At this point, his only option was to go up; going down would be far more difficult and he would be much more likely to fall on the way.

Far down in the courtyard, Sir David irritably strode across the cobblestones, trailed by the Ranger Halt. They had been in the midst of a meeting with Baron Fergus, but the commotion from the courtyard had been enough to make David check what the trouble was.

"Rowan!" The tall Battlemaster called crisply. "What's the trouble?"

Said sentry turned and hastily saluted, though his face was painted with exasperation and annoyance. "Sir. Gilan's climbing the tower; he finally managed to sneak past us." The man winced, realizing how that made him and his men sound. He would be reprimanded for this incident, Rowan thought gloomily.

David froze at his words, then whirled to face the tower. There, barely distinguishable from the top of the battlements, was a slightly built figure, waving enthusiastically.

David blanched.

"Gilan!" He bellowed, his voice trained to carry across the battlefield being used now to reach the top of the castle. Rowan smirked. He liked Gilan, but he was currently quite irritated with the boy for getting past him. It was nice to know that the sentry wouldn't be the only one in trouble.

Halt, an expert climber himself, eyed the tower and raised an eyebrow. "He climbed the tower freehand?" The Ranger inquired, a touch impressed.

"The whole thing," another guard chimed in response. "He's not the fastest climber, but he's got enough spunk to get it done." A moment passed before the guard muttered under his breath, "And enough stupidity." At David's slightly baleful glance, the guard hastily added, "Uh, I mean no offense, sir."

At the top of the tower, Gilan waved again, calling down as he did so. "Dad! Look!"

"Gilan! Come down, now!" David shouted once more, trying to sound stern in spite of his racing heart. A moment passed before he hurriedly added, "Use the stairs!" Gilan made a positive gesture and disappeared from view. It would be several minutes before he made it to ground level, David knew.

Halt watched the distant figure disappear, a new light of approval in his eyes. "Well, that's not half bad."

David glared at him. "You're a Ranger - of course you would think that. What if he had slipped, fallen?" Without waiting for an answer, he rounded on Rowan, who snapped back to attention. "You said he sneaked past you? How? You're supposed to be on alert for any disturbances!"

Rowan shifted uncomfortably. "Well, uh, sir..." He really didn't have a suitable excuse, lamely continuing, "He's sneaky."

Halt internally smirked at the exchange and again studied the tower. Not bad at all.

* * *

"Wow," Gilan breathed, stroking his pony as it sensed his excitement and began to jig.

"After the meeting, we can go explore the village," David said, smiling at his son as the boy stared wide eyed at the grandeur that was Castle Redmont. Gilan had visited with his father several times before, but this was the first time that he was old enough to truly appreciate it. "I might even be able to convince Arald to take us on a hunt tomorrow."

Gilan's head whipped from the castle to his father, a wide grin lighting up his face. "Really?"

"No promises, but Arald isn't one to turn down a chance to get out of the office," David answered knowingly before turning to focus on the road again as they approached the castle gates. The sentries, recognizing the knight on approach, nodded and stepped aside, allowing the two horses to enter the courtyard. Dismounting, a stablehand immediately stepped forward, offering to take the two horses. Sir David considered for a moment, glancing at Gilan. His son was looking sideways at him - David knew that Gilan was more than capable of looking after their horses - in fact, the boy enjoyed it. David nodded at his son before turning back to the stablehand. "Thank you, but my son will look after our mounts."

Gilan, holding the reins of his smaller saddle horse in his right hand, accepted the reins of his father's battlehorse in his left. David affectionately scrunched his son's hair, then the boy began to lead the horses toward the stables. "When you're done, ask one of the castle staff to escort you to our chambers. I'll be there after the meeting," the knight called, and Gilan nodded his understanding. Satisfied, David turned and entered the castle.

Gilan led the two horses into the stabling area and into the empty stalls that the stablehand directed him to. Stripping the saddles, Gilan gave them each a rubdown before refreshing the water buckets and pouring them both a measure of oats. Satisfied that they were settled, he withdrew two apples from his tunic pocket. He set one in the grain bin of his father's horse, but he fed the other to his own pony by hand, the animal crunching appreciatively into the sweet fruit. Affectionately rubbing his horse's forehead, Gilan's hand went into his pocket one more time to retrieve two sugar cubes. After they were swept up by a velvety tongue, Gilan glanced around them before hurriedly kissing the pony's soft nose.

As the boy exited the stall, several shouts and a frightened squeal caught his attention. The noise seemed to be coming from one of the side corrals. The scene horrified him - a group of boys, enthusiastically beating on a dusty, knock kneed filly.

The filly flinched as another rock struck her side. Her eyes rolling white, she instinctively lurched forward, smacking her chest into the wooden fence she was cornered against. The boys laughed again as they gathered more rocks, clearly enjoying her terror.

At this moment, Gilan forgot that he was slender and slight and willowy. He overlooked the fact that these boys all appeared older than him. He didn't pause to think that perhaps he should go fetch someone better equipped to handle these fops.

At this moment, all Gilan knew was that this poor filly needed someone on her side, and she needed it now.

"Leave her alone!"

The boys turned at the yell, one immediately hitting the dirt as Gilan barreled into him with every ounce of strength he had. Grunting, the boy shoved Gilan off of him into the waiting arms of his friends. Gilan was sparely built, but he was fast, landing several solid punches before they managed to restrain him. One of the receivers whimpered as he held his smarting nose - the kid might look slight, but he sure packed a punch, he thought painfully.

"Leave her alone," Gilan said again, glaring at the group. The ringleader of the bunch laughed.

"Or what? You're out of your league here, pal." With a sly look to his friends, he hefted the rock he was holding. "Maybe you want to take the rocks for her?"

A quiet, accented voice made them all freeze. "What do we have here?"

The ringleader paled as he recognized the voice of the local Ranger. "We, we, were just playing, sir," he mumbled, staring at the ground as he dropped the rock.

"I think some of us would argue against that," the Ranger replied. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, his tone turning deadly serious. "This time, I'll let you run along home. But, next time I catch you beating on horses or young boys, we're going to have a discussion. And believe me when I say, that you do not want to have that discussion."

Wordlessly, the boys ran. Halt turned back to Gilan. "You'd best run along as well."

Gilan, having grown up with Rangers and not having the same fear of them that many people had, nodded. Halt's dark eyes studied the boy a moment longer before he turned and left in a whirl of that mysterious mottled cloak.

The Battlemaster's son watched the fabled Ranger until he was out of sight, his mind whirring. Shaking himself, Gilan turned back to the filly and withdrew two more sugar cubes.

Despite the mini brawl, the feeling of her softly lipping them out of his hand had the boy smiling the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

 ***Notes:** **Lysette is the name I have chosen for David's wife, which you'll find is consistent with any previous works of mine with her in them.**

 **The new Royal Ranger book came out in the U.S. today. It was a pretty darn good read - Maddie is fleshed out more as a character, which I found very enjoyable and good on Flanagan's part.**

 **R &R?**

 **-TrustTheCloak**


	5. Chapter 5

"Really, I'm feeling so much better, Halt," Gilan croaked out, even as Halt reached a hand out to keep the boy from listing sideways off the pillow that he had so insistently propped himself up on.

Halt sighed. This conversation was not a new one, and the Ranger was quickly growing weary of it. "I'm sure. You used to look like death; now you just look terrible." Quickly brushing a palm across Gilan's forehead before the boy could twist out of reach, Halt confirmed for himself that his apprentice's fever was still present. "Either way, you're still running hot and therefore, not coming."

"I'm fine." The phrase would have been more convincing if Gilan hadn't started to list again, this time in the other direction.

Halt gave a low grumble at his student's persistence; who exactly did he think he was fooling? Crossing his arms, the older Ranger leaned back against the wall. "Fine, then. Walk to the door and back in a straight line, and then we'll talk about you coming."

Gilan gave a snot-logged scoff. "Alright."

"Alright."

With great effort, Gilan heaved himself off the mattress, holding onto the headboard as he tried to find his balance. His legs were trembling like a newborn colt's, the boy noted with dismay, his locked knees the only thing keeping him from tumbling to the floor. After a deep breath, Gilan detached himself from the headboard and took a tentative, stilted step forward.

And immediately fell as his knees buckled.

Gilan would have become rather well acquainted with the floor if an anticipating Halt hadn't caught him and lowered him back onto the bed. Halt raised an eyebrow, and Gilan gave a groan of defeat. "Okay, you win. I feel awful and everything is spinning."

"Your head is the only thing that's spinning," Halt promised as he pulled the blanket back up over his apprentice. "Just go to sleep; I'll be back tomorrow morning. Finish all your water and under no circumstances are you to get out of bed. I won't be here to haul you off the floor."

"Mhm," Gilan mumbled in response, worn out from his arguing and already drifting off to sleep. Halt just rolled his eyes and brushed a hand across the boy's hair before exiting the bedroom.

"Goodnight, Gil."

* * *

 _Sniff._

Halt, raising a spoonful of stew to his mouth, gave an exasperated sigh through his teeth. Gilan had caught a cold earlier in the week, and while he remained well enough to function fairly normally, he was just sick enough to be annoying.

 _Sniff._

The grizzled Ranger closed his eyes and bit out, "Gilan, if you wipe your nose with your sleeve one more time..."

"It won't stop running," Gilan complained, mopping at his nose again with the cuff of his poor tunic despite Halt's warning. "And I don't have a handkerchief."

"Of course you don't," Halt answered grumpily, digging into his own tunic pocket to retrieve his own. Passing it to his student, the Ranger sternly warned, "You're washing that in boiling water before it comes back to me."

Gilan took the cloth and again dabbed at his nose, an expression of wonder on his young face. "Huh. You're as equipped as a nursemaid."

Halt stopped in his tracks. " _What_ did you say?"

"You heard me," Gilan shrugged. The handkerchief was better than his sleeve, the boy decided as he folded the item and slipped it into his pocket.

"And you clearly don't want to take the risk of saying it again."

"You're right. I don't."

A smirk flashed across Halt's face as took another bite of his dinner. "How's the stew?" The Ranger inquired.

Gilan stared into his bowl thoughtfully. "I'm sure it's good, but seeing as how I can't taste a thing right now..."

Oh. Right.

* * *

Halt frowned as he opened the door, Will looking up curiously from his assignment as he did so. Standing on the porch was Crowley, Ranger Commandant and his best friend. Standing beside him was a salty looking Gilan.

Gilan, who was currently sporting a bandaged right arm and definitely favoring his ribs.

Halt stared for a moment, trying to take in the scene before him. "What on earth..."

Exasperatedly running a hand through his hair, Crowley nudged Gilan, who winced. "Your idiot apprentice got himself in way over his head," the Commandant answered with a roll of his eyes. "And managed a rather spectacular stunt that has ended up with him on two weeks of leave."

"In my defense, I did catch them," Gilan interjected, casting a desperate glance at his old teacher. Will, his curiosity overwhelming him, had gotten up from the table and was peeking out the door beside his mentor.

"Hi, Crowley! Hi, Gilan... what happened to you?"

Halt ignored Gilan's pleading look; right now, he was more inclined to agree with Crowley. "Yes, Gilan, what did happen to you?"

The young Ranger gave a momentary glare at the betrayal for dropping his gaze and forcing out, "Well... um..."

"He fell off of a roof," Crowley added helpfully.

Halt pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course he did," the Ranger said in a long suffering tone, giving his former apprentice a withering look. "Well, besides telling me about his idiotic antics, why is he here?"

"Because," Crowley answered in an overly sweet tone, "You have no respect for authority and evidently have passed that trait down to your apprentices. Gilan needs to be off duty, resting, for two weeks, and you are the only one that he'll maybe listen to and not try to sneak back onto duty."

"He doesn't listen to me, either!" Halt grumbled as Gilan gave a non apologetic shrug, a smile touching his lips at Crowley's words. Gilan couldn't argue with them; he was the type to try to sneak back on duty, and probably at the nearest opportunity.

Crowley gave his friend a pat on his shoulder. "Like I said, your problem." Turning to head down the porch steps, the Commandant gave Gilan an affectionate swat on the head. "Two weeks, sport. Not a moment sooner."

After waving to Crowley, Will excitedly turned to Halt. "Gilan gets to stay for two weeks?!" the boy said gleefully, almost bouncing on his feet in his enthusiasm. Gilan was basically the big brother that Will had never had, and the prospect of getting to spend two weeks with him was very enticing indeed.

"Apparently," Halt answered tersely, trying to wrap his head around the idea of having his two extremely spirited apprentices in the same house for two weeks. This could get interesting, Halt thought with some trepidation. To Will, Halt said, "Get Blaze put away, please, Will." Nodding, Will gave Gilan another grin before bounding down the steps.

"This is all your fault," Halt told his former apprentice, even as he gestured him into the house.

Unclasping his cloak, Gilan flashed his characteristic cheeky grin. "Actually, to hear Crowley tell it, it's _your_ fault."

Halt rolled his eyes, though he internally conceded that Crowley did have a point.

* * *

 **Just some more lighthearted, fluffy whump. I originally had another one in the lineup, but it was slightly more intense and I decided that it would be better suited as a longer, single story.**

 **Until next time!**

 **-TrustTheCloak**


	6. Chapter 6

"As you all know, while I'm not one for drawing out introductions..." Crowley paused, a smirk crossing his face as the rest of the Rangers groaned, several calling out jokingly because they all knew, Crowley included, that their Commandant did enjoy his dramatics. Spreading his arms, Crowley continued, "You know what? No sense in waiting. Let's eat!"

The Rangers cheered, and immediately the sound of dishes clanking, food being passed, and drink being poured filled the clearing. Halt served himself a dollop of creamy potatoes, while Will immediately went for the fruit. Gilan's hand momentarily drifted toward the dessert tarts, before Halt's glare had him amending his reach toward a basket of biscuits instead.

Will bit into a grape, savoring the sweetness and crunch. His face lighting up and mind whirring, Will tilted his head at the bunch that remained in his hand. "Hey, Halt?"

Said mentor looked at his student, eyebrow raising. Will took this as a sign to continue. "Do you think I could fit five grapes in my mouth?"

Halt blinked once. Twice. Teenage boys and their thought processes, he thought grumpily, conveniently forgetting that he had once been one. "You're a hazard to society," the Ranger said with a roll of his eyes.

"And a coward," Gilan chimed in, his face innocent as he ate his biscuit. "Do ten."

"Don't encourage him," Halt grumbled, swatting at his former apprentice's head. Gilan ducked, his signature grin gracing his face.

Will watched the exchange before turning to look at the other Rangers, a warm feeling of belonging settling over him.

He was home.

* * *

Gilan almost choked on his coffee in his laughter as Will's face pinched in disgust before he spewed out his own mouthful of dark liquid. "Ugh!" the boy groaned in distaste, his lips puckered as he peered into his mug. His coffee, that tasted like it had been laced with copious amounts of _salt -_ and Gilan's reaction was evidence that he was the culprit.

"Gilan! This was a perfectly good mug of coffee and you ruined it! Apologize!" Will insisted, crossing his arms as he glared at Gilan, trying to look as intimidating as his short, slim, young frame would allow - which, admittedly, wasn't that intimidating.

"No," Gilan said cheerfully, smirking at Will's stance before breaking out into another peal of laughter. "That reaction was gold."

"If you don't apologize, I'm going to tell Halt. It was his good coffee, too," Will threatened, crossing his arms.

Gilan bit his lip slightly before shrugging, stretching his legs out from where he sat against a log. "Okay. Though, I am an adult, you know. I can do what I want."

Will's eyes narrowed fractionally. "Fine. HALT!"

"No, wait, I'm sorry!" Gilan's nonchalant facade dropping instantaneously. Knowing that he had called his friend's bluff, Will just laughed, the previous irritation melting off his face.

And when Gilan winced after later biting into a salty tart that Will offered him...

"Your originality is overwhelming."

* * *

Gilan gagged, breaking into a rough coughing fit. Hastily setting the mug back down, he braced himself against the table, still trying to calm the coughing as tears leaked out from the effort.

Erak beamed at the young Ranger. "What do you think?" He asked jovially, taking a hearty swig from his own mug.

Gilan finally looked up, eyes still streaming. "It tastes like paint thinner and bad decisions," he gasped through his burning throat.

"Perfect!" Erak chuckled, smirking at Gilan's reaction. "Want some more?"

"No thanks," was the response as Gilan pushed the mug further away from himself, glaring at it as though it had personally wronged him; which, really, it rather had. "I might die."

Halt rolled his eyes from where he was seated at the other end of the ship's cabin. "I hope that teaches you not to try anything Erak considers 'perfect'. Your lack of self-preservation is worrying."

Gilan made an offended noise, before sizing up the mug again with a new light of interest in his eyes. "Say... I wonder if we could get Horace to try it."

"Gilan, that is a terrible, horrible, foolish idea..." Halt trailed off for a moment and was unable to hide the faint smirk that appeared on his face. "Let's do it and see what happens."

* * *

"That was a mistake," Will said gloomily from his perch in the pine tree outside of the cabin.

"A mistake we're going to laugh about one day..." Gilan offered from where he sat several branches higher.

"But not today."

Gilan winced. "Oh, no, today's going to be a mess."

"Halt's going to have us up here all night," Will sighed, looking up to give Gilan a glare. "It was your idea, you know."

Gilan chucked a pinecone at his friend's head, making him yelp. "You were supposed to talk me out of it!"

"You're the adult," Will reminded the other Ranger, shifting as he tried to find a more comfortable position. Oh, they were in for a long night, indeed.

Gilan grimaced as he leaned against the trunk. "Not adult enough, apparently."

Far below them, Halt's voice floated up. "How's the view, you terrors?"

"Oh, it's lovely!" Gilan answered with false cheer. "I'll trade you spots; I wouldn't want you to miss out!"

"Next time, don't tie my boot laces to the chair." The salt in Halt's voice could have been used as seasoning. "By the way... I think it's going to rain tonight."

Both boys winced. No, they wouldn't be laughing at their prank today.

Maybe tomorrow.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **The third snippet was written with the idea that this was sometime during their trip home from Arrida in Erak's Ransom.**

 **Any suggestions on what you'd like to see covered in this little series?**

 **-TrustTheCloak**


	7. Chapter 7

***In these snippets, they seemed to write with Gilan being several years older as each one happens.**

* * *

David rubbed his chin, acting like he was in some deep thought. "Where could Gilan be?" He asked out loud, ignoring the quiet snuffles of amusement. "He's not in the closet, he's not under the desk..."

Laughter erupted from his son as David snatched him off the ground from where he had been hiding behind the curtains. "Got you," he said triumphantly, tickling Gilan into an even great laughing fit.

"Daddy, stop," the boy choked out, then burst out laughing again as David bounced him in the air. "Hide again, Da!"

David settled Gilan on his hip before replying, "I'm afraid we have to go to breakfast. What shall we eat? Eggs? Sausages? Little blond boys?" With that, David began making eating noises into Gilan's neck, who again laughed until he was gasping for air.

David threw Gilan up onto his shoulders before exiting the chamber. According to Gilan, David thought smugly, he was the most hilarious being in the kingdom.

Kids were great.

* * *

David gnawed his lip as he moved his pen across the report in his lap. A familiar shriek of laughter made the man look up, lips creeping upward. Gilan, cheerfully romping about the courtyard garden. Winter had at long last melted away, and today, the bright sunlight highlighted the colorful hues of spring. A gentle breeze tickled the air and rippled the shining pond; a perfect day for playing outside, David had announced, gathering his work before following his son into the garden.

Closing his eyes for a moment, David's lips tilted upwards as he enjoyed the sunshine on his face and the sound of his son's amusement. The weight of his portable desk and an impressive stack of paperwork sat heavy on his lap, but just for a bit, he would savor this moment of relaxation.

Light footsteps and the feeling of a certain small someone nestling against his side made David open his eyes. "Hello, my sweet boy," the Battlemaster said fondly, smiling at his six year old as he reached to smooth the downy blond hair.

Gilan snuggled closer, and David's arm automatically draped securely over him. "What are you doing?" the boy asked, nudging the papers.

"Lots of work," the Battlemaster replied, wincing as his son's face fell.

"Oh," Gilan answered, his voice seeping with disappointment. "Maybe... maybe later... you could play? After you're done?"

David paused for a moment before setting his pen down. "You know, it really is too nice a day to spend it doing paperwork," he said, a smile creeping its way onto his face. "What do you want to do, Gilly?"

Gilan's blue eyes lit up, and with a squeal of excitement, he scrambled to his feet. "Can we catch frogs?"

David chuckled as he allowed his son to pull him towards the pond. The sun was shining and his kid wanted to play.

Work could wait.

* * *

"Dad, could I -"

David startled, the pen jolting in his hand and leaving a smear on the paper. With a sigh, the Battlemaster leaned down and gave his son a long suffering look. "Gilan, I'm working. I have a lot I need to do."

Sprawled under the desk, Gilan sighed and absently kicked the table leg. David made another noise of annoyance and gave his son a stern glance. "Find somewhere else to play, son."

"I'm not playing," Gilan mumbled grumpily. "Playing means you're having fun."

David nudged him with his foot. "Haven't I kicked you out once already today?"

Wiggling away from his father's foot, Gilan winced. "Well, yes, but-"

"No. Out."

Heaving a dramatic groan, Gilan hauled himself to his feet and towards the door, consoling himself with the fact that dads were just boring sometimes.

* * *

Gilan sniffed and wrapped his arms around his knees. He had wedged himself into a nook of hay bales, the day's events destined to replay in his mind.

His father had raised his voice - _yelled-_ at him. In front of the whole room. Then, as Gilan stood shell shocked, his father had dutifully ignored him, turning back to the conversation and leaving his son with tears in his eyes.

Yes, Gilan had been being a pest. Yes, he had earned a reprimand. However, the harshness, along with the cold dismissal, had _hurt_.

The loft ladder creaked, and the boy froze mid sniff.

"Gilan? Barric said you were up here."

His dad. Gilan impatiently dashed the tears that had inexplicably welled and huddled deeper into the hay bales.

A sigh, then the floorboards creaking as they were settled on. "That's alright. You don't have to come out." A pause, then David spoke again, his voice thicker now. "I'm sorry. My actions were out of line, and for that I'm truly sorry."

Gilan didn't answer, but he did withdraw himself from the hay bales just a bit.

"I was frustrated and spoke without thinking." David took a breath, and Gilan stilled, because _was his dad crying_? "What kind of father hurts his son enough to make him feel like he has to hide from him in a hay loft?"

Hearing his father wetly inhale, the boy crept out a touch more.

"You being born was the best moment of my life. I love you _so_ much." David swallowed a sob. "I need you to know that." The floorboards creaked again as David stood. "I'll leave you alone now."

Gilan finally stood. "Wait," he said, before dashing into his father's open arms.

Sometimes, a hug said everything words could not.

* * *

 **More absolutely tooth-rotting fluff. I do apologize for my semi-long hiatus; work has kept me very busy and I've had some crappy things happen in my personal life that I have been occupied with.**

 **Reviews are loved** **\- I'm always greatly appreciative of feedback. I am always looking to improve my writing, and knowing what I'm doing well and knowing what I need to improve on is important to me.**

 **Have a lovely day!**

 **-TrustTheCloak**


	8. Chapter 8

Halt arched an eyebrow at the curled lump, giving it an annoyed swat. "I said to wake up, Gilan. Now."

The named apprentice heaved a muffled groan into his pillow and hauled his blanket higher over his head, wriggling away from Halt's prodding. "Go 'way..."

Halt rolled his eyes as he lifted his foot, not feeling the least bit apologetic.

 **Thunk.**

Gilan let loose an offended squawk as he hit the floor, his blanket wrapped, lanky limbs a tangled, flailing mess. "That was mean," the boy croaked grumpily, smearing a hand across bleary, red-rimmed eyes as he glowered at his mentor.

"If you had gotten up the first time I told you, I wouldn't have had to kick you," the older Ranger replied, grabbing the blanket and throwing it back onto the mattress, ignoring the boy's feeble attempt to swipe it back. "Now, up you get."

Gilan turned to stare out his window into the dark sky, his frown deepening. "You're aware it's not even close to being time to get up?" the boy questioned suspiciously, casting another longing glance at his bed.

"A mission came up. If you're not ready in ten minutes, you're getting left." With that, Halt exited, a smirk on his lips as his apprentice squawked again -panicked, this time- and scrambled to his feet to get dressed. Halt wouldn't really leave Gilan, but making him believe that would get them on the road faster.

Five minutes later, when Gilan was impatiently fidgeting by the front door, Halt applauded his logic.

* * *

"Idiot boy," Halt scolded sharply. The Ranger's callused fingers were carefully carding through his apprentice's hair, feeling for any injuries. "What were you thinking? Or do I even want to know?"

Gilan gave a halfhearted shrug. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." As Halt's probing fingers brushed a bruise, Gilan flinched. "Ow."

Satisfied, Halt completed his search. "Indeed. However, you'll live, a fact for which I am glad. It's an awful lot of paperwork when apprentices _die_."

Gilan scoffed indignantly, feeling the sizable bruise himself. "I regret nothing."

"Bold words," Halt responded dryly. "You hit your head - you clearly don't remember what you're supposed to regret."

"It was a dare, Halt! What was I supposed to do, turn it down?"

Halt's deadpan expression clearly conveyed that yes, that was exactly what he should have done. A mischievous grin creasing his cheeks as he reached towards his pockets, Gilan tried one last time to justify his actions. "At least I have standards! There was something to be gained - he paid me to do it." There, proudly displayed in Gilan's open palm, were in fact five royals.

Halt blinked. "Oh." For a moment, the Ranger considered, before seeming to come to a decision.

"Next time, don't do it for anything less than ten."

* * *

 _Thwack._

Sending his last arrow into a target, Gilan lowered his bow as he assessed the results. All the arrows had found their way onto a target, with a few striking through the center rings. Decent shooting, but not nearly as tight as the Ranger standard called for. Still, Gilan thought with a sort of dry humor, he was hitting the targets now. When he had first started learning, his archery practice consisted of more searching for arrows than it did of actual shooting.

"Not too bad. Do it about a thousand more times, and you'll be half decent." Halt's commentary floated over from where the Ranger was idly adjusting the fletching on his arrows, shooting each arrow into a tree and giving a nod when he was satisfied with how they flew.

Gilan groaned. "Archery will be the end of me," the apprentice declared in a semi joking tone, though the underlying frustration was bleeding through. Halt glanced up at this, studying his apprentice's downcast expression for a moment.

"You're getting better, Gil," the Ranger offered, recognizing that his apprentice wasn't merely looking for his ego to be stroked, but instead was experiencing very real and very frustrating self doubt. Left unchecked, self doubt had a tendency to spread like poison, and Halt hurried to put it to a stop.

"Not better enough," the boy answered gloomily. "It seems like I have to work twice as hard as all the other apprentices in my year to keep my shooting up to level. What if... what if soon I'm not able to keep up?" Gilan looked absolutely panic-stricken at the thought, and Halt felt a wave of sympathy wash over him.

"You won't fall behind. People have different strengths - you wish you had their archery skills, but I guarantee you that more than one wishes they had your inclination towards unseen movement." Halt then gestured towards Gilan's sword scabbard that had been placed on the ground. "What about your sword? You had to practice to get to the level you're at now."

Gilan shook his head. "Well, yes, but it was never hard like archery is. I still have to practice, obviously, but sword work... the sword is _easy._ "

All at once, Halt understood the very crux of the matter. Gilan had been raised and trained from a young age as a swordsman - and a very naturally talented one, at that. He'd never had to struggle with a weapon before, his sword easily becoming an extension of his arm, of his very being. To be thrown into archery - in a sense, the opposite of the sword work that he was so naturally inclined toward - and to struggle so hard with it... had to be immensely discouraging.

"Gilan," Halt said firmly, staring hard into his apprentice's eyes. "You won't fall behind. You're worried? So we'll practice. It will be hard, but we'll practice until it is _easy_. You have it in you."

Gilan blinked, letting Halt's confidence absorb into him. Halt believed in him, and Halt was never wrong; everyone knew that. With a deep breath, the boy nodded.

"Okay."

* * *

Gilan winced as he pushed his foot into his boot. "I need new boots, Halt," the boy said with a grimace as he experimentally flexed his foot, biting his lip as his toes protested. "They're pinching."

"Already?" Halt sighed with exasperation, eyeing his apprentice's feet with sheer disbelief. "You just got those -they fit fine before!"

"A few months ago!" Gilan responded with a grunt as he forced his other foot in. "Not anymore."

Halt pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing that if he were to have Gilan continue to wear his too small boots, a few days later would result in his apprentice limping around like a sad sort of cripple. Taking a breath, Halt studied his apprentice a moment; Gilan looked lankier than ever, all sharp angles and long, coltish limbs... limbs with sleeves that were uncomfortably short.

"Boots, then. Maybe a shirt or two. You grow worse than a weed," the Ranger said finally, his tone defeated. Even he had to admit that Gilan was looking a touch raggedy, and a little too close to looking homeless than was fitting for an apprentice Ranger.

Gilan immediately perked up, breathing out a sigh of relief that he wouldn't be made to wear the small ones. "Sorry."

"I think you're doing it on purpose," Halt shot back grumpily as he fished out some money for Gilan to take.

"Er... It doesn't work that way."

"Extra space in the toe," Halt ordered as he relinquished the coins into his apprentice's hand. "These ones are to last longer, understand? No more growth spurts."

"Like I said, it's not up to me..." the boy responded, almost with pity. Gilan was the first to admit that he grew through clothes annoyingly quickly.

Halt simply gave his apprentice a dark look as he swallowed a sip of coffee. "Sometimes I wonder."

* * *

 **It will forever be a thing of sadness for me that John Flanagan didn't utilize Gilan more. He's a character with so much potential, but who is so sadly underused. His appearances in Brotherband remedied it slightly, but I think I will always feel that smidge of sadness. At the same time, however, I don't think I would ever want Flanagan to write a prequel for Gilan's apprenticeship; I've built him up myself in my head too much.**

 **Reviews feed my starved muse.**

 **-TrustTheCloak**

 **FYI: I am always open to story prompts! My muse has been struggling - it needs to be poked and sparked a bit, and story prompts, especially ones that I find very interesting or am eager to put into words, are extremely welcome.**


	9. Chapter 9

Gilan brushed the last of the dust off Blaze's white face marking before smoothing her long black forelock straight. "Lovely girl," he crooned, pressing a kiss onto her soft pink nose. The mare gave a low, rumbling nicker as she gently bumped her head against him - Blaze loved affection, and she adored her rider who so quick to give it.

"You coddle that mare," Halt said with a shake of his head as he tied his bedroll onto Abelard's saddle. "You'll spoil her to death."

Gilan gave an indignant gasp even as he finger-combed a knot out of her mane. "Hush, Halt! You shouldn't insult a lady," he answered with mock sternness, giving Blaze a quick pat as he mounted. Halt rolled his eyes as he turned to get on Abelard.

"That doesn't mean I'm wrong. You don't see Abelard pinning his ears at me because I don't give him a second apple, hmm?"

"Because you _do_ give him the second apple," Gilan muttered, before continuing in a louder voice, "Like I said, she's a fine lady. You have to treat her as one."

The mare nickered again at his words, an almost prance in her step. Halt shook his head again.

"Right. Well, you coddle her enough for the both of us," he replied. "Don't expect any nose kisses from me, Blaze," the older Ranger finished, giving the mare a warning look.

Blaze simply tossed her head and snorted. _He says that like it's_ _a bad thing. I'd much rather get nose kisses from you, anyway._

Gilan smiled briefly. "I'm sure she'll get over it," he assured his mentor.

Halt eyed the pair with suspicion and grumbled under his breath.

Mares.

* * *

"Gilan, come inside. You're not doing her any good when you're out on your feet."

The boy didn't even look up from where he sat slumped next to Blaze's downed form. "No."

The boy was gently stroking the horse's neck, his face taut with worry. The mare's liquid brown eyes were dull, her breathing heavy and shallow. Her hay was untouched, and she refused to even nibble at her oats no matter how much Gilan coaxed her.

"I want you to get some sleep," Halt said, firmer this time. "And you need to eat something." The older Ranger understood Gilan's reluctance to leave his sick horse... but the boy was worrying himself to distraction.

Stubborn as he was, Gilan shook his head in response. "I'll just sneak out again. We both know this." The boy finally raised pleading eyes to his teacher. "You'd be doing the same thing if it was Abelard. Please, Halt."

Halt sighed in defeat, recognizing the truth behind his apprentice's words. "Just tonight, and on the condition that you swear to eat what I bring you." The Ranger's tone made clear that he wasn't jesting.

Gilan nodded hastily in response, knowing to take what he was given. "I know. I promise."

When Halt returned with a bowl of potatoes and chopped venison, Gilan made a show of tucking into it. The boy then offered the grain pan to Blaze again, his face falling when the mare turned her head away in disinterest.

"That's alright. Maybe later," Gilan said, his troubled eyes betraying a voice that was seeping with forced cheerfulness.

Halt cleared his throat, feeling like he was interrupting. "Goodnight, then." Gilan gave an utterly weak smile in return, and as Halt walked back to the cabin, he knew he would be sleeping fitfully that night, worrying not only for the mare, but also for his apprentice.

However, when Halt entered the stables early the next morning, completely unable to sleep any longer... Blaze's grain pan was licked clean. The mare's face was still wan, but her eyes were brighter, her whole demeanor content as she curled her neck over the sleeping apprentice tucked against her side.

A faint smile touched Halt's lips as he reached down to smooth the mare's forelock. "Well, Blaze, I see you're feeling better."

The mare nickered. When Gilan didn't so much as stir, Halt decided that perhaps he would allow Gilan to sleep in today.

Just this once, of course.

* * *

Gilan gave a huff of frustration and ran a hand through his hair. As an apprentice, Halt had always been there to correct and mop up after any of Gilan's overlooked details or mishaps. As a newly graduated Ranger, however, with Halt a five day ride away... well, Gilan was on his own. "We have a problem," he said gloomily, raising a hand to gnaw at a thumbnail as he considered how to solve this newest development.

Blaze snorted and gave the closest thing a horse could have to a long suffering look. You _have a problem. I have an idiot who keeps getting into them._

Gilan winced. "I'm working it out," he insisted, throwing his mare a hurt glance as he mounted. "Anyway, I have a plan."

 _Is it a good one?_ Blaze tossed her mane, seeming doubtful, and Gilan found himself, not for the first time, wishing that his horse had just a smidge more tact.

"I have a plan," he repeated, and Blaze gave a low rumble.

 _We're both going to die, aren't we._

"Don't be so dramatic," Gilan answered with some annoyance, giving Blaze's neck a light flick. Behave, the gesture seemed to say.

Blaze responded with a crowhop that had Gilan scrambling for mane and again acknowledging the fact that Blaze would forever get the last word.

* * *

Gilan glared furiously at the Tualaghi men in charge of the line of Araluen horses. Built differently from the Arridan mounts, the warriors were interested in all of their animals... but it was Blaze who had captured the majority of their attention. Selethen had told them that the Arridi people held mares in a higher regard than stallions, as they made better war horses. Much quieter than stallions, mares aided in the stealth factor that many raids called for.

And completely fascinated with his mare, the Tualaghi were.

One of the warriors reached out to stroke Blaze's long face marking. Normally, Gilan kept the strip a clean, shining white. Now, it was darkened with sweat and dirt from the sandstorm. The Tualaghi's grimy hands weren't going to help matters, the young Ranger thought bitterly as he watched, wanting nothing more than to tear Blaze away from reach.

Pinning her ears flat, Blaze snapped her teeth before the man's fingers made contact with her face. He just barely managed to withdraw his hand from the reach of her powerful jaw, but Gilan knew better - if Blaze had really wanted to grab the warrior, he would be missing a finger. It was a warning snap, Blaze's angry eyes clearly saying that she expected him to heed it.

The man's face flushed with anger, and he raised a hand again, clearly intending to smack the mare's face... when a call from a superior was heard. Giving Blaze a last angry look, he dropped his hand and left. Even in his anger at the horse, the warrior clearly knew better than to leave a higher officer waiting.

Gilan let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his eyes narrowing as he watched the man leave. Committing the man's face to memory, the scum who had tried to hit his mare...

The young Ranger gave that peculiar smile again.

* * *

 ***The Bedouin people bred their Arabian horses (which the Arridi horses are based off of) to have speed, intelligence, and incredible endurance. They did value mares over stallions - a good war mare was very highly prized, indeed. Often, the mares were brought inside the family's tents during the night, not only to protect from the weather and predators, but also theft. Pedigrees were also traced through the female line.**

 **Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are loved.**

 **-TrustTheCloak**


End file.
